


Hunter

by stele3



Category: Bandom, MCR - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash, Vampires, creepiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:04:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stele3/pseuds/stele3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They said the guy in Apartment 1147 was crazy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunter

They said the guy in Apartment 1147 was crazy. Everyone in the complex sped up as they passed his door in the hallway; Frankie could hear their footsteps when he sat in the bathroom, sharing an illicit cigarette with the night beyond the little square window above the toilet. The distant _tap-tap-tap_ of footsteps became _tappitytappityskipskip-tap-tap-tap_ as they passed the apartment directly below the one Frankie shared with his parents.  
  
Before he'd actually met Gerard, Frankie had spent a lot of time hoping that he was actually crazy and would, like, start a fire right below them. Then Dad and Mom could stop arguing for _ten fucking seconds_...or maybe they'd all just cook to crispy and be put out of their misery. Frank often wished for awful things, usually at night in his bed, his hands pressed over his ears. He didn't think he really meant them.  
  
Twisting around, Frankie eased the back lid of the toilet up to drop his cigarette butt inside. The bloated remains of previous nic fits bobbed among the toilet's metal guts; somebody would find them soon. That was sort of the point. It'd give them something else to be angry at him about, and distract from the real danger.  
  
Mom was still at work. Frank still took the back way, crawling out the window and stretching across the short, diagonal cap between the balcony outside their living room and the fire escape outside Gerard's. It made him think of the night when he'd first met the crazy guy downstairs, and Frankie pinned that thought in his head to keep from thinking about that long drop beneath him (12 stories down, splat).   
  
He'd been sneaking out to see Shalaylee, his cousin's best friend's girlfriend's Scottish queercore band at the Pike. He hadn't even really wanted to go; he'd promised to make an appearance only because his cousin was gagging for a threesome with the friend and her girlfriend, and the very real potential of two teenie dykes beating the crap out of the douchebag had been worth the possible grounding. Frank kind of hated his cousin.  
  
Still, it hadn't been worth it when his foot slipped off the fire escape. That had happened before, on previous nights and previous gigs, and Frank hadn't wound up in a puddle yet, fuck you very much; except then there had been this pale white face - seriously, fucking DEATH-pale face - _right_ there and Frank had jerked back in surprise. His center of gravity had shifted and shifted and started to tip; his arms had windmilled helplessly as he'd hung there, frozen into silence, waiting for the drop.  
  
Then a hand had grabbed the front of his shirt and an arm had clamped tight across his back, so tight-tight he couldn't get away even with gravity's help. Frankie had found himself hauled back in and pressed against the outside of the railing. That Death face had been right up and personal in his.  
  
"Careful," Deathface had rasped, his breath reeking of alcohol.  
  
"Nugh," Frankie had replied. His hands, uncertain what to do with the crazytrain of adrenaline, had opened and closed spastically on Deathface's shoulders. "Uh. Hi."  
  
Now he slipped over the same railing - oh, oh, careful with the balls, yikes - and paused to tap at Gerard's window. Which was kinda dumb: the windows were totally blacked out, it wasn't like Gerard could see who was knocking. Then again, Frank didn't think anyone but him would be tapping at Gerard's window in the middle of the night...or going to Gerard's apartment, anytime, ever. The dude didn't exactly get out that much - he even paid that weird little Singer kid to make deliveries from the liquor store down the street, little bags of booze dropped nervously at his doorstep.   
  
When Frank nudged the window open and swung his legs around to scoot inside, he immediately located Gerard sitting on the living room floor dressed in sweatpants and a sweater. He held a cigarette between his crooked lips and a paintbrush in one hand. A bottle rested against his knee. The floor around him had a new layer of color matted into the carpet; Frank had no idea how long Gerard had lived here, alone, working himself deeper into the six surfaces around him. Judging from the state of his apartment, it'd been a while.   
  
"Hey," Frank greeted. "What's up."  
  
Gerard was looking at him. Looking. He could just sit there and stare for a while. Frank had no idea what he saw. He tried not to twitch.  
  
"Have you eaten?" Gerard said. His lips moved awkwardly over the bulge of his canines. He must have been drinking a lot today. Most of the time Frank didn't even notice the teeth.   
  
"You got any pretzels?" Frank asked, trying to make it a joke. He'd seen the inside of Gerard's fridge, the red bags hanging above empty shelves. He pushed his hands under his thighs, feeling all of his 15 years in a sharp burst.  
  
Gerard gestured over his shoulder. Frank followed the curve of his hand in the dim light of Gerard's solitary table lamp. The way he _moved_. "There's a package for you," Gerard said, his voice low and even. "I had it delivered today. If you're so inclined."  
  
"For me? What is it?"  
  
A smile brought the teeth right out. They looked like two points of bone shards between Gerard's pale lips. "Open it and find out."  
  
They were cupcakes. "Vegan cupcakes," Gerard amended from the living room. "There's a store that delivers..."  
  
"Oh my god." Frank snatched one up and bit into it without even taken off the little paper wrapping first. He spat it out and kept chewing; it was chocolate, with mint frosting. "Oh my god," he went on, speaking around the mouthful and spewing crumbs everywhere, "this is fucking amazing. I've been fucking looking for this shit for months, dude, I can't believe you - "  
  
He turned around and Gerard was right there, one of those rare movie-like moments of DUN-DUN-DUN-VAMPIRE. "I remembered," Gerard said. His eyes were steady on Frank's face again. Looking.  
  
For a moment Frank reeled, hanging in space; but then he caught himself and waved the cupcake in Gerard's face. "Thanks. Seriously. I gotta remember the name of this place, I haven't had a good sugar fix in, like, a long fucking time."  
  
"You're very welcome," Gerard said with that odd, stilted formality that belonged to a different time. "I - " He reached out and laid a hand on Frank's shoulder, then his arm, then his shoulder again. "I'm glad you like them."  
  
Frank stared up at him, chewing. Then he thought, _Fuck it_ , and stretched up, rising on his tiptoes to wrap one arm around Gerard's neck, hugging him. "They're awesome. Thanks."  
  
Gerard went still against him. They didn't touch that often, Gerard very deliberately keeping his distance - but always looking - and the few times that Frank had gotten close always resulted in this, this awkwardness. Gerard had no idea how to touch him, patting at his shoulder and his side, and leaning closer. Trying to get more but not knowing how to ask.  
  
Or, only knowing how to ask for it a certain way. And Frank got the impression that it didn't exactly involve _asking_ , most of the time.   
  
He let go of Gerard's neck and sank down on his heels, feeling himself shake. "Thanks," he said again, lower. The taste of chocolate clung in the back of his throat.  
  
In the murky light, Gerard's hair hung in tangles around his face, hiding his expression. "You're welcome," he murmured.


End file.
